


In which Agatha wakes Tarvek

by Overlord_Bethany



Series: blundering onward [4]
Category: Girl Genius (Webcomic)
Genre: Ficlet, I've been told it's whump-y, Multi, OT3, Post-Canon, this could have become smut but it didn't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-12-18 14:15:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11876265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Overlord_Bethany/pseuds/Overlord_Bethany
Summary: welp, why don't I put a spoiler right there in the title?





	In which Agatha wakes Tarvek

Agatha couldn’t quite say what had awakened her. Not a sound, certainly, for hers was the only head lifted. She peered around the room. Nothing seemed out of place, from the dark shapes of the furniture to the door hinges to the pool of moonlight just touching the foot of the bed. Strange. She felt certain something had jolted her from her dreams. Frowning, she sank back into her pillow. It didn’t make sense. She usually slept so soundly…

A faint tremor beside her snapped her out of her thoughts. What…? Agatha leaned closer, listened to unsteady, shuddering breaths, nearly silent in the darkness. 

Tarvek. Tarvek was crying. 

Agatha pressed her palm to his chest. A faint wave of tension rippled through his muscles, but his heartbeat remained steady. Agatha whispered his name. No response. Sound asleep. 

Well. What to do about this, then?

Agatha stroked his hair, his dampened cheek. Tarvek turned his face to the pillow. Fine. Be that way. She reached into the darkness, caught Gil’s hand, and gave a firm tug. 

Gil’s head lifted a little, a darker shadow in the night. Agatha guided his hand to Tarvek’s shoulder. Groggy though he was, Gil understood. His hand smoothed down Tarvek’s arm in firm, reassuring strokes. He leaned closer, and between soft, soothing kisses pressed to Tarvek’s back, he mumbled, “Jesteś bezpieczny. Bezpečí. все буде добре.”

Agatha had to admit that her vocabulary grew a bit thin once the words started coming with Cyrillic letters, a fact that did nothing to stop the shiver that ran through her body at the sound of it. She wanted to hear more, but now really wasn’t the time. Not with Tarvek trembling in her arms, breaking her heart with every silent sniffle. 

Gil continued to murmur soothing words, placing a gentle kiss upon Tarvek’s skin between each language. Another time, Agatha might have let a display of tender affection between them overwhelm her with joy. Tonight, she thought bloody thoughts. Tonight, she wanted to destroy everyone who had hurt Tarvek. 

Something—perhaps the sound of Gil’s voice?—caused Tarvek’s sniffles to grow into quiet sobs. Agatha pitied him the headache he would have when he awoke. She held him close, stroking his hair. How could he weep like this, like his heart and soul had shattered, without even waking up?

Her ears caught one of the words Gil kept repeating in a dozen languages. Safe. You’re safe. 

Oh. 

Oh, but that was it, wasn’t it? Tarvek sobbed softly in his sleep because finally—perhaps for the first time?—he felt safe. 

Agatha tightened her hold on Tarvek. What could she do? If she and Gil both got up and left, Tarvek might sink back into quiet slumber. Maybe. But abandoning him would be far crueller than letting him cry. She could wake him—also cruel. This way, with him asleep, she and Gil suffered for him. Perhaps that was for the best. 

“S'rry,” Tarvek mumbled, startling a flinch out of both of his bedfellows. “‘Nevka, I—”

Agatha hadn’t imagined he would start talking in his sleep. She felt like someone had kicked her right in that spot below the solar plexus that makes a person want to vomit and dismember someone at the same time. Gil’s grip tightened on Tarvek’s arm. At least she wasn’t alone in her vengeful thoughts, though the urge to devise a way to punish the dead nearly drove her up and into the lab. Tarvek needed her. She stayed. 

Gil’s hand brushed against hers. He paused, his fingers curling around hers in an unspoken question. Do we wake him? A minute ago, Agatha would have said no. A minute ago, Tarvek’s sobs had remained silent. Now he choked on hiccoughs, and she could not bear another minute of it. Agatha gave Gil’s hand a squeeze: I’ll handle this. 

She slid her hand up over Tarvek’s shoulder. Gripping him by the back of the neck, she pressed their foreheads together. “Tarvek, my love,” she murmured. “I need you to wake up.” Gently, carefully, she kissed him. 

For a moment, Tarvek didn’t react. Then, slowly, his lips began to move against hers. Agatha tasted the salt of his tears, and his anguish ached all the way down to the soles of her feet. Please wake up. Please. 

Tarvek made a small noise in the back of his throat, a sigh and a groan and a question all at once. His arms slid around Agatha’s waist and, holding her close, he rolled over, pressing her down into the mattress. He kissed her harder, and for a moment there was nothing else. The pain and the worry faded out beneath the weight of Tarvek’s body, the heat of his kiss, the firm caress of his hand over her hip and down her thigh. 

“Oh, come ON,” Gil muttered. Agatha lost the taste of sweet salt kisses in a breathless laugh. 

Tarvek opened his mouth for a reply, but his words disappeared into a soft groan. His hands clutching the sides of his head, he sank back onto the bed. Yes, there was the headache. Agatha nestled against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, now somewhat louder and faster than before. The elevated blood pressure would do his head no favors, poor thing. 

Tarvek wrapped one arm around Agatha, holding her comfortably close. His other hand scrubbed at his eyes. “Well, that’s new,” he said, his tone more of curiosity than distress.

“Yeah.” Gil sounded distressed. “Are you—”

“I’m fine. I mean, my head is fit for cracking, probably not unlike yours after that incident with the absinthe, but otherwise, no harm done.”

“I don’t get hangovers.” Gil sounded apologetic. 

Tarvek’s chest rose in a deep sigh. “Of course you don’t. For the duration of this headache, I might have to hate you a little.”

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

Agatha’s fingers played in abstract patterns across Tarvek’s chest. “Dehydration, muscle tension, and blood pressure.” A little self-conscious, she added, “I know headaches.”

“I’ll be right back!” Gil sprang out of bed and bolted for the door, snatching up a lab coat as he went. Tarvek chuckled. 

“Smart money says he forgets to put on trousers.”

Agatha prodded him in the ribs. “No way are you getting me to bet against a sure thing.”

Tarvek’s arm tightened around her. “What CAN I get you to bet on?” The sound of his voice carried his grin to her ears. This could be fun. 

Agatha propped her chin on the back of her hand. “Any minute now, Gil is going to burst through that door with a noxious headache cure for you. It’ll work, of course.”

“Of course.”

“So…” Agatha rubbed her feet together, gleeful with anticipation. “What kind of disgusting will it be?”

“Bitter.”

“Vinegar.”

“Done.” Tarvek placed a kiss on the top of her head. His fingers trailed up and down her spine. Three slow, deep breaths later, he said, “Thank you.” For waking him gently? For not mentioning the crying? For knowing what ailed his head? All of those? 

It didn’t matter. 

Leaning up, Agatha kissed him underneath the jaw. “Any time,” she murmured. She settled back down, her palm flat on Tarvek’s chest, her cheek on her hand, and together they waited for Gil.


End file.
